


When I Think About You, I Touch Myself

by toast_ghost



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dildos, Dirty Talk, Imagination, Masturbation, Touching, johnlock if u squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toast_ghost/pseuds/toast_ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft fucks himself with a grey dildo whilst thinking of Greg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Think About You, I Touch Myself

**Author's Note:**

> This is trash, I am trash.
> 
> Also I have a fever and I can't sleep and my head is going to explode. Hang on, kiddos.
> 
> (And I apologise for the lack of indentation. I am too tired to figure out how to fix it.)

It would all start with a gentle touch. Sometimes it would be upon his chin or cheeks, or against the inside of his neck. But it was all it took to get his heart racing and his pupils dilated. Tonight was no different.

Mycroft laid in his bed, his eyes glued to his high ceiling. His pyjamas were feeling a bit too hot and stiff against his skin, but he knew it wouldn't be long until he discarded them and opted for nudity instead. The first three buttons of his nightshirt were undone, revealing his creamy skin. Fine ruddy hair dusted over his chest, his flesh sprinkled with freckles.  
  
His own long fingers pressed against his lips, causing him to gasp quietly. He nibbled at the tips of his fingers, electric jolts shooting through his nerves. He dragged the pad of his thumb across his lower lip, allowing the short nail to dip and press into his skin. A breathless gasp tore from those flushed lips.

Those fingers went down slowly, his nails raking across the quick pulse in the dip of his neck. He couldn't help but arch off of his expensive sheets as his hand reached his chest. He felt the soft cotton of his pyjamas, the smooth buttons beneath the pads of his fingers. He took his time undressing, allowing himself brief touches as he popped off each button. He lifted his bottom and slid out of the bottoms, dully noting the tent that was starting to pitch.

Even in this state, Mycroft was careful to fold his pyjamas and set them on the floor beside his bed. He did the same with his silk boxers, folding them up neatly to join the rest of his night clothes. The man settled back onto the bed, his foggy mind feeling a little swimmy.

A choking breath caught in his throat as he ran his fingers down his chest, between his pecs and up to his collarbone again. This made him shiver; he would never admit that he was ticklish. His fingers brushed against a nipple, causing him to jolt. He now allowed his mind to wander.

A name stained his lips as his own traitorous fingers teased him, swirling around a now hardened nipple. He gave it a pinch, pleasure spreading like fire. His cheeks had become quite rosy, the pink colour creeping down his neck and making his chest a little splotchy. Sweat dotted his forehead, causing his curl to become plastered to his skin.

"Oh, _Inspector-_ " Mycroft gasped, his nails biting into the sensitive skin of his nipple. His teeth bit down and worried his lower lip, his hips bucking as blood pooled hot between his legs. He gave the same attention to his other nipple, tweaking and pinching until the skin was bright red and throbbing deliciously.

The room felt boiling hot, a gleam of sweat forming on his body. He seemed to shimmer in the low light, his muscles quivering and spasming with each touch he gave himself. Mycroft shivered and couldn't swallow down his whimper as his fingers raked down his ribs, feeling each thick bone. His fingers skittered across his twitching abdomen, stopping short just above that dark red patch of pubic hair. He gazed down at himself, his blown eyes taking in the sight of his cock. He was fully erect now, the head becoming a swollen pink.

_'I'd love to have a taste,'_ a gruff voice growled in his mind. Goosebumps exploded across skin and he released a shaky breath, a thick groan following after. _'Christ, just look at you. All worked up. Don't worry, love. I'll take good care of you.'_ That voice was smokey and rough, filled with promise. Mycroft imagined that it was Gregory's hand tightening around his cock, imagined his rough, weathered hand giving a delicious _tug_. White exploded in the back of his mind, the pleasure intense and hot.

"P-Please," Mycroft whined, rolling his hips up to meet his hand. His eyes had closed, his brows drawn up and his forehead crinkling. _Bliss_. The Gregory in his mind gave him a wolfish smile and curled his hand around the top of the head, giving a quick flick of his wrist. The imaginary man was breathing into his ear, now. Hot and heavy.

_'Fuckin' perfection,'_ the voice snarled, his imaginary teeth sinking into the flesh just beneath his jaw. Mycroft couldn't-didn't-hold back a choking sob, fisting his cock and stroking with a quick pace. _'Absolutely gorgeous.'_ Sherlock wasn't the only Holmes brother who enjoyed a bit of praise now and again. _'I'm tempted to just hold you down and fuck you  good and proper.'_

Mycroft could only squirm against the sheets, precum beading at the head of his cock only to slide down his length in a clear, pearled drop. It only helped make the strokes smoother and more decadent. _'There we go. Getting nice and hot, yeah?'_ Greg chuckled, his perfect teeth glinting in the low light.

The man in his mind gave his cock a soft squeeze. An embarrassing howl fell from Mycroft's lips and his eyes snapped open immediately. His breathing was quite ragged and rough, sweat sliding down his temples and dripping onto his pillow. Mycroft sat up, his body itching for something more.

He practically tore open the top draw on his nightstand, his cock aching. With a shaking hand, Mycroft withdrew a nearly empty bottle of lube. The clear liquid pooled at the bottom, and Mycroft cursed himself for not taking the time to fetch more. He figured he could just pay his brother a visit, and steal some. A smirk danced across his lips, and he reached back into the draw.

Trembling fingers closed around a soft, grey coloured toy, and Mycroft hummed pleasantly. He closed his draw and laid back, holding the thick dildo in his hands. Of course he would give his very soul for the real thing, but he was just going to have to settle for the cool, lifeless rubber and the imaginary Greg that forever plagued his mind.

Mycroft drew in a deep breath before he brought his knees to his chest, his long legs hanging up in the air momentarily. He rested the grey dildo on his stomach as he poured the last of the lube onto his fingers. He set the empty bottle on his nightstand, returning to his task. The man began to stroke the toy slowly, spreading the lube over every bump and sculpted vein.

Imaginary Greg groaned, obviously aroused at the sight of those long fingers stroking up and down the slick toy. The obscene sound bounced around Mycroft's head; he would definitely be storing that one away for later.. Without wasting another moment, Mycroft guided the toy down, _down_. The soft, firm head pressed against his entrance and, with one gentle push, the tip of the dildo slid past his clenching ring of muscle and popped inside.

_'God, you are so fuckin' tight,'_ Mycroft shivered, keening as the slick toy pushed deeper and deeper inside of him. Greg leaned down for a smouldering kiss, and oh, wasn't that _nice_. Even though it was just a daydream, Mycroft felt his lips tingle. The head of the toy slid across his prostate, making Mycroft call out. _'You like that, huh? Right here?'_ Mycroft slid the toy back, the tip pressing mercilessly against the bundle of nerves. Greg snapped his hips forward, humming at the feeling of Mycroft's slick walls fluttering and clenching around his cock.

"I-Inspector!" His voice filled the room, sinful and wanton. His free hand scrabbled for purchase, his thin fingers settling for gripping the sheets. A series of "ohs" and "ahs" followed as Mycroft began to move the toy, pulling out until just the head was inside before sinking right in again. He pushed deeper and deeper with each thrust, his legs drawn tight to his chest. He hadn't even noticed the cramping in his thighs and calves.

_'Say my name, love. Say it.'_ And, God, Mycroft did more than say it. He practically screamed the Inspector's name, his eyes screwed tight as he lost himself in the sensation. He fucked himself mercilessly with his toy, his toes curling. A soft squelching sound mixed with the lusty cacophony of his cries.

In his mind, Greg was pounding into him, snarling and panting and growling. He had a firm grip on Mycroft's legs, throwing his entire weight into every thrust. His fingers tangled into auburn hair, pulling and tugging those locks out of that perfectly kept style. It was pure, primal lust. Completely driven by love and passion and unquenchable _desire_.  
  
He wanted nothing more than the real Greg, with his real cock. Those rough, chapped lips. That salt and pepper hair that seemed to go in every direction no matter how many times Greg ran his hands through it. Those deep, warm eyes that sparkled when he laughed. The crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

He dared himself to imagine Greg's stubbly face brushing against his. He thought of kissing those lips, biting them, licking them. Mycroft was sure their lovemaking would be absolutely exquisite, like nothing he had ever felt before. Greg would hold him close and just  _pound_ him. They wouldn't break eye contact for a minute. And he was positive that Greg would enjoy it immensely as well.

Each thrust was pure heaven, the dildo hitting his prostate with each quick snap. He was so close to the tip of the mountain, so close to his orgasm. And when that imaginary version of Greg moaned his name, Mycroft lost it. The sound was so smooth and silky and full of love and- _and--_

"Gregory!" Mycroft howled, his mind suddenly flashing every colour in the spectrum and burning holes in to his retinas. His slick hole clamped down hard on the grey dildo as he orgasmed, milking the toy desperately. Hot seed splattered across his chest, some shooting onto his chin from the position that he was in.

Thick ropes coated his skin, the white stripes hot. Mycroft trembled, his legs sliding down away from his chest. The muscles felt tight and wound up. He winced as the dildo jostled around inside him, finding the over-stimulation a bit unpleasant. He slowly with drew his toy with a gasp, a warm dribble of lubricant following. For a moment, Mycroft allowed himself to dream it was Greg's cum.

Mycroft struggled to catch his breath, shaking violently and huffing. His eyes fluttered as they opened, and he peered at the ceiling through his thick lashes. He felt warm and pleasant all over, his body practically buzzing. But his heart gave a heavy, sorrowful lurch at the realisation that the real Greg was not with him to enjoy this post-orgasm bliss. No cuddling, no kissing, no gentle caresses. No murmurs of love as they both fell asleep in each other's arms.

He swallowed thickly and sat up with a hiss, feeling sticky and messy and sore. He grabbed his toy and limped off into his en suite, this cramping legs threatening to buckle beneath him. Both he and the dildo needed a good wash.


End file.
